Canonical Errors
by Olhado
Summary: A cautionary tale of Rietro and Romy. Happy birthday, Chiru!


****

A/N: This is a fairly sarcastic story. But it is not _my_ sarcasm. It is _Pietro's_ sarcasm. _I_ am not personally responsible for any of the viewpoints expressed in this document. I have no control over what characters want to say once you give them first person priveledges.

That aside, **Happy Birthday, Chiru!** It's all for you.

Rated PG for thematic elements and freaky dialogue.

Rogue is weird. That's the end of the story, see, Rogue is just weird.

There was a time when some well-meaning idiot said to me, "Hey, Pietro, Rogue's totally hot you should totally go out with her man." I don't remember who the idiot was, off hand, but I think I left something in his locker as retribution. What goes around comes around and since I can't dispense much in the way of general stupidity (gotta have the goods to deliver, man, and I just don't got the goods), I have to replace it with cheerful malice! Hi! I'm cheerful! And I'm going to make your life miserable until I get bored!

Fortunately for Bayville, I get bored very easily. I have an attention span of approximately 2.5 seconds (yes, I've counted) and I can type at a rate of 200 words a minute before I get carried away and start nuking the keyboard, and that's the only reason that I've stayed on this subject for this long.

Whatever the subject was -- oh, wait, I found it. At the top of the page, there it is, millisecond to look up at it and recall . . . I was telling you Rogue was weird.

You could probably guess she was weird from her name. Her . . . name . . . is . . . Rogue.You can't have a name like that. I doubt very much that Rogue's mummy pulled her from the baby hamper and said "Oooooh, powers that be, I will call this child Rogue and doom her to bad name puns until death . . . no, scratch that, beyond death, because they're going to put a _doozy_ on her tombstone."

No, I really have no idea how Rogue got the name Rogue. She probably gave it to herself after she got her powers. "Oh me I have these horrible powers that are horrible I can never fit in I'm a rogue from the human race boo hoo." I keep thinking a better name would be Angst Kitten #490 or if you absolutely have to be absolutely clueless as to I dunno not take yourself serious, Rogue (which according to the thesaurus is knave, scoundrel, crook, you get the picture, not really that angsty and/or accurate and/or appropriate) could be easily replaced by something like Pariah, outcast, leper, unclean (got that from Thomas Covenant, there). I think Leper would be a swell user-name for Rogue. Only, it doesn't got that romantic "Oooog" sound, does it? Short es. Leper. And I guess it'd totally go against the whole painted beauty thing she's got going. She'd have to at least add some rotted-looking splotches against her ghast white to keep up with the image. Oh, she'd do the image, never mind that lepers aren't necessarily these horribly contagious people with their faces falling off, Rogue's not creative enough to do the research, you know.

Probably look up "leper" in Vampire Wretches and Other Creepy Things, whatever website they might have or whatever and come up with "somewhere between a zombie and a ghoul, only not and alive and stuff" and a couple of garishly colored pictures of some bodice ripping girl being carried off by a rotted man, that's what I'd expect.

Medical journals are too dull for her type. I mean, the girl's got to have read Dracula fifty times considering how often she carts it around school. Either that or she's a really really really slow reader. But Dracula, seriously, no wonder she's such a self-important whiny drip. Wanna come off deep, don't read about vampires who rip out their own arteries and have some wussy chick drink their blood in some kind of nasty attempt to be freaky. Pulp, guys, pulp. And weak pulp. Victimization pulp. "I'm a girl and I'm victimized by these outside forces of evil who make me do bad things and it's not my fault please rescue me from evil men I'm trying my best really but I'm just a wussy girl on the inside."

See, Rogue's weird. She hung out with the Hood for like two weeks before Scott Summers pulled the lead guy tactic and Mystique pulled the whacked femme fatale tactic and Rogue pulled the betrayed whore with the heart of gold tactic and we lost her to the X-Men. La-ti-da. She's such the tough cookie, makes wizened tough ol' soljers like Wolvie weep with sympathy, but I didn't buy it and neither did the 'Hood. The day someone from the 'Hood turns into a soppy gibbering mass of unrequited love and melted dignity is the day Evan beats me at Twenty Questions.

So, that's right, I was still fuming over that idiot's insistence that I go out with the sissy and I see this _amazing_ thing. Unbelievable. I do a doubletake and it's still unbelievable.

Rogue-y's been off with the X-Men in some high class Carribean style "mission" for a couple of weeks, didn't miss her, but here she is and it's amazing, I'll mention that again, _amazing_.

Pasty Rogue has . . . a tan.

Oh, she's trying to hide it. She's dropped the sheer blouse again, only, she usually drops it for that dum-de-dum-how-dumb shirt with the bare shoulders and this time she's dropped it for, no kidding, a sweat-shirt. A sweat-shirt. I didn't even know the X-Girls _had_ sweatshirts outside the gym-issue kind. In fact, now that I'm looking again, it might be one of the X-Boys'. Oh, probably. She's covered from neck to ankle (wow a turtleneck sweatshirt -- in that case, definitely Scott's), but her face shows it.

Tan, tan, tan! Rogue has a tan!

I snicker not-so-under my breath and quick time over. She's opened her locker and trying to keep her face in between the locker door and her hair and I'm just about to tap her on the shoulder when Evan drives a foot into my Achilles' tendon and I yelp.

Whether Rogue notices or not is no longer my business. I whirl on intrusive little Spyke-the-man and glower. 

"Whaddya think you're doing?"

"What do you think _you're_ doing?"

Glares exchanged, held, broken, and exchanged again. I get bored.

"I was justgonna comment on Rogue'snewcomplexion," I whistle.

"You like it?" Evan's eyebrows raise.

"Sure, like everything, such a nice peach thing going on her skin. If it were anyone else, she'd be showing more of a, I dunno_, tan_, but I guess on Rogue it _does_ count as some kind of diluted with fifty-gallons-of-water-tan, sure."

"She _can_ hear you. You know?"

Rogue's eyes are fixed viciously on my right ear. She growls between gritted teeth and taps her arm with black-gloved fingers. I work to feel intimidated as her growl heightens into something intelligible.

"What are you trying to say, Quicksilver?"

I bow. "You are the mostravishing bit of undercookedeggwhite I've everseen . . . mydear and the waterhasfinally boiled just long enoughto give you thatslightlypeakedandwrinkledmembrane look. Work on it a few more months, maybefivehoursadaywilldoit, and I'dexpect a nicedelicatesetofscorchmarks across your cheeks. Excuse me!" 

I don't even have to use my speed to outrun her. Evan's said, in those moments when the X-Men weren't hanging around and monitoring his every flicker and flash of dubious loyalty to The Cause, that Rogue chases him so-frequently, but never gets close to catching him and between you and me, Evan's not even a piddling half of my "normal" speed. 

Somehow, though, I'm not paying a whole lot of attention to what's going on right in front of me and I slam smack in Risty, Rogue's buddy-pal-who-likes-touchy-touch. I go cartwheeling back into some punk, who shoves me forward, and I knock Risty flat this time.

It'd be oh-so-romantic if I went for it. But someone's standing on the back of my thighs and it hurts and I couldn't care crap if Risty has a shockedly amorous expression on her face or a murderous one, I'm not paying attention and I'm getting up.

I'm up and halfway down the hall when she calls after me.

I'm game, Risty-girls don't usually notice I'm alive and maybe I can think of something beyond amusing to say to her.

I don't really expect her to motion me into one of those emptier chemistry-lab corridors, making funky hand gestures toward the ground -- lower your voice, dude. This is so secret agent, I'm sure.

"I need your help," she says and her voice has lost all trace of perky and British. It's a very familiar contralto -- you know, the voice of a peeved panther before it takes your head off.

"Oh, heyMystique," I say. How funny. We all thought she consisted of molecule flecks somewhere between here and Mars. Guess not.

"Shut up and listen."

I'm all ears.

"I need you to gauge Rogue's . . . loyalty for me, Pietro."

"Ooooh. Hookherup to somekind of . . . "

"I want you to try to . . . " Risty paused as if trying to recall a phrase, " . . . win her heart . . . " That sounded like it took effort. Poor Misty.

"You meanyouwantme to dateherandwooherand sweep her little feet into a cornerthey'venevertread before soshe'll leave the X-Geeks and become a 'Hood?"

"Yes. In not so many words."

Why, I'd rather saw my toe off with Wolverine's nail clippings!

"Begging your pardon, but whywouldIdo that? What's wegonna do without you's leadership, ma'am? Even if I do magicallyreel her in like an albino walleye?"

"Because . . . otherwise . . . I will return to the Brotherhood house, only, I will do it from the back door and I will be bringing 'friends' who will not like you or any of your lazy little compadres. Is that clear?"

Anything but, unfortunately. But nonsensical as she is, Mystique is about as sweet and trustworthy as a sawed-off barracuda and I don't want to risk it. Hey, perhaps she has some sneaky battle thing planned that requires Rogue or whatever.

"S'pose."

"You will not mention my return to the other members of the Brotherhood."

"'Kay, sure thing."

"Otherwise . . . "

"Youperforatemybodywithironandfire. Whatever."

Risty's eyes narrow. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now, begin your work."

She stalks off. It takes a few moments before her booted step recovers Risty's slight swing. 

What a rip. This is going to ruin my month.

Oh well, ruined month over being a body in an alley somewhere, hmm, hmmm.

  
I share Zoology with Rogue (and Scott) and I figure I have no idea how to woo anyone, let alone someone I like to make fun of in a nice loud voice at any oppurtunity, but I do sidle into a nearby desk and put an amorous expression on.

All right, perhaps three rows off is stretching the definition of "nearby" and maybe "vaguely-stupid" doesn't count as amorous, but I figure I can take this slow. Not my style, no, but Rogue can smash me flat if I come on too fast. Never mind that just about any move I make in her direction will count as "too fast."

In the mean time, I'll try to enjoy Zoology. This usually isn't too hard. Our teacher, who, as I remember, refuses to give a proper name or even a fake name like Rogue and goes by "Mister" most of the time is completely unsuited to his subject. He's also, I could swear, far too young to be teaching. If he's a day older than Scott, I'm Evan's son twice-removed. But whadda I know?

"Today," he says in his usual unconcerned and mildly distracted voice, "we're going to learn about lizards."

He slams three jars onto the table. From my angle, they look about as lizardy as those "pet tornadoes" you buy in Kansas. Maybe if you drained all the water . . . 

Mister picks up a fourth jar and eyes it critically. "This!" he says, yanking the jar over head like a flag. "Is a Chuckwalla. You can tell by its nametag, Chuck."

Silence. I'm never sure if Mister is trying to crack a joke or he's really just nuts. I try to catch Rogue's eye by sending thought messages in her direction. _Hey, stupid, turn around or something._

There's a small explosion. I send a quick glance back toward Mister, who is soaked with I-don't-wanna-know and looking confused.

"One moment, class . . . I guess that wasn't a Chuckwalla. _Might _have been the water proof firecracker I was testing, you know, jars get switched." And he hunkers under the table, picking up whatever glass didn't get vaporized. I suppose this might qualify as an "oppurtunity."

I clear my throat, smooth my shirt carefully over my chest so it's nice and tight, and stand up.

I'm only ten feet away from Rogue and moving at my flirtateous leisure when Scott suddenly gets in my way.

Never mind if it's an interesting possibility, it's not my job to flirt with Scott's back.

"Rogue, is that my shirt?"

Family discussion. I can think of about fifty-hundred-odd snide and slightly dirty comments to make here, but I sidle back to my seat.

Rogue appeases Scott by convincing him that it's not _really_ his shirt, she had Beast clone an exact copy while Scott was sleeping, yes. Well, convinced is probably a strong word. The way Scott's eyebrows are tilted high and his mouth is slightly agape might indicate that he can't believe that she might believe that he might buy it, but he does withdraw. Out of resignation, I bet. 

Mister is back upright and yanks another jar. "Okay, _this_ is a yellow . . . "

That one explodes, too. A large glob of liquid splashes again the right lens of Mister's sunglasses.

He mutters something inaudible, shakes his hand out, and ducks back under the table.

Second oppurtunity.

I clear my throat, re-smooth my shirt, and start over toward Rogue. 

I make it this time.

Rogue doesn't look around. I harrumph in the manner I hope passes for sexy in these parts. She looks over her shoulder with a frigid, vicious expression.

I expected that one.

"Pietro . . . "

Why does she say that name like I say "toilet paper?" I mean, I'm Pietro. 

"HeyRogue. Justwantedtoapologizeforthehalltotallyjoshingyouyouknow."

Not a word of that penetrates. 

"I'm . . . sorry . . . " This is painful. " . . . for . . . being . . . a . . . dork . . . in . . . the . . . hall."

Rogue's expression doesn't change. No, wait, that might be a flicker of "what the heck?" somewhere in her eyes. That's a start.

"Why are you sorry?" she asks suspiciously.

"Because I didn't mean it," I say, groping in the back of my brain for the faucet labeled "smooth." I turn it on. "I only said that because you caught me off guard."

"Caught you off guard?"

"Your . . . " What was the word? " . . . beauty, Rogue. It _always_ catches me off guard and I _always_ snark to the nearest person about it, I can't help it! I can't think of . . . _nice_ words that does it justice!"

"What are you trying to say?" I'd really hope she'd be looking malleable by now, but it's still more of a "what the heck" flicker than a "wow, I love this guy" flicker.

And then I'm interrupted anyway.

Mister has gotten off the floor and is pointing in a direction that might be indistinctly mine. "Hey, whoever you are, it's time to return to your seat. We're going to identify . . . "

Here, the rest of the jars explode and Mister groans. "Oh, never mind. Class dismissed. Except for Mr. Summers (wherever you are) -- I'd like your assistance a moment?"

"Ohswell, we can continue this . . ."

Rogue's grabbed her books and is knocking over desks on her route to the door, obviously fuming.

I don't get it.

"He-e-e-eyEvan?" I ask the cellphone, squatting behind the Brotherhood House and trying not to attract any flies, for fear Toad might be tracking them.

"What's up, Pietro?"

"I need your help."

A long silence on the other end. Then a definite snicker. A long snicker. "_You?_"

"Yesyesyes, me."

"On what? What would you need _my_ help for, Speedy?"

I whap the side of my head loosely with my free hand. Painful. It's so painful. "I need your advice on howtodateRogue."

Another silence. The previous snicker has mutated into a guffaw.

"_Rogue?_"

"Lookshutup, just . . . "

"_Rogue?_"

"Ijustneed . . . "

"You're _joshing_ me, man!"

"No, no, I'm indeadlyearnest!" Emphasis on the dead. "I'm so . . . in love."

"Yeah right!"

"No, no, deadright." Another emphasis on the dead. "I really really _really_ want to date Rogue. I'm not kidding. _Really_ want to date her. It's like my lifedependsonit,youknow?"

The silence makes another appearance.

"You're serious." He sounds less likely to swallow the phone now, at least.

"_Dead serious_." Get the point, man, get the point!

"Why do you keep saying dead?"

I smack my face a little harder.

"Because that's how _serious_ I am. Look, just stop laughing and tell me what to do, okay?"

"You don't gotta chance, man!"

"Why? Aren't I attractive, funny, intelligent?"

"She hates your _guts_, man!"

"Why?"

"Pietro, this is a no-brainer."

"Can't I pass off all my jolly insults as misdirected hormones?"

"Rogue doesn't _like_ you, Pietro."

"Okay, okay, who does she like, then? Gimmesomething to emulate!"

"She likes _Scott_."

Shouldn't have asked. "Okay, so what I need todois getsomeglasses, okay."

"You _can't_ pull off the strong, serious type."

"How many times have I mentioned how _really really really serious I am_? Of courseIcanpull off . . . "

"No way, man. It's not going to fly."

The head-slapping is beginning to fall into time with my heartbeat. Then, wow, inspiration!

"E-e-evan, howaboutthis? Blinddate, imageinducer."

"Uh uh. Kurt doesn't let that thing out of his sight. If I asked him to loan it to me, it'd have to be life and death and _not_ your life and death either."

"I wasthinkingyougetacase of the compulsoryborrows . . . "

"_Steal_ it? You're nuts. If nothing else, Xavier know what I was doing an _hour_ before I did it."

"Doesheknowwe'rehavingthis conversation?"

"Totally."

That's unnerving. "Hedoes?"

"Yeah."

"He lets you?"

"He figures I'll convert you eventually."

"Fatchance."

"I know."

"Okay,okay, lemme think of somethingelse."

"Pietro, it's not going to happen."

But an idea _is_ forming in my head. I just can't share it with Evan, even if Pappy X wasn't listening it. "Oh, gottago. Talk later!"

I hang up and grin manically up at the windows. I love ideas. Mmm hmmm.

"We're gonna kill Rogue?" 

"No, no, Blob, we're notgoingtokill Rogue. We'rejustgoingto dressuplikegangsters and _pretend_ to betrying to kill her. At least, _you_ four are."

"And you . . . are going to . . . 'rescue' 'er?" Lance is trying to cook pancakes and cooking ash-patties instead. This makes him grouchy. "Why you want Rogue to like you all of a sudden?"

"So she'll come back to the Brotherhood!" It's true!

"Who needs her?" Tabby huffs. 

"_I_ need her." I wanna puke. 

Toad gives me an odd look. "You do? Yo, this is so new . . . "

"Pietro don' need nobody," Lance snarls at the latest ash-patty. "Don' 'e?"

"All that's . . . changed now!" I say brightly.

"I'm not buying this," says Toad, the nasty. "You hate the X-Geeks more than the rest of us put together and you're trying to make us believe that it was all some kind of misguided punk infatuation with a girl who never exchanged, what, one word with us in a civil context?"

Somedays, yes,yes, I _really_ can't stand Toad. Fortunately, neither Blob or Lance has any idea what he just said. Tabitha, I don't know, but I could care less.

"Rogue and I have a really really really _deep_ understanding. So deep that -- onthesurface,mindyou! -- itlookslike bitterhatred and all that."

"No, that's your relationship with Evan. We _all_ know about Evan."

Nods all around.

"In fact, have you talked with _him_ about it?"

"What? WhywouldItalktoEvan?"

"Your phone bills come in the mail." Lance forces a casual yawn. "So I've steamed open one or two outta simple curiousity . . . an' who _else_ would ya be chattin' with at the Mansion, huh?"

So, occasionally, Lance is slightly smarter than he looks.

"_Oh_, that's me tutoringhimyouknowhisgradeshepaysmeverywell,youknow."

"Then you haven't talked to Evan about Rogue? It wouldn't _ever_ come up during Algebra?" Toad is tapping his fingers together, leaning back on the couch and looking very _smug_. 

I cave. Not because I'm broken, but because there really isn't any point in hiding it, really. "Well,allright. Alittle. He says it's ano-go, that's why I need your help."

"Now, why might he be saying it's a no-go?" croons Tabby.

I hate _her_, too.

"Because Rogue doesn'tseemtoofond of me."

"You sure?"

"_Yes._" Darn it, I have to put up with this _every_ other day.

"'Ow sure?"

Okay, time to put the lid on. "_Evan and I are fri-i-i-i-iends_. Do you know whatafriendis? Huh? Huh?"

"I don' get those kind of phone bills chattin' wit' friends."

"Wouldn't going out with Rogue be some kind of _betrayal_ of Evan?"

I grit my teeth loudly and hope they hear the enamel gritting away.

"Pietro, your desired relationship with Rogue is a percieved _sublimation_ of the one you _actually_ want to have with Evan."

"I'm disappointed in you, really. Big-shot BoMb member scared because his feelings fall outside the social norm?"

"You're not supposed to be _ashamed _and you're _definitely_ not supposed to cover them up by latching onto women you know you can't get along with."

"For example, wouldn't you be suspicious if I hooked up with Tabby?"

I look at them, sitting there so close and fervent on the couch. I grin.

"No. Iwouldn'tbesuspiciousintheslightest."

Tabitha and Toad covertly scoot back to opposite ends of the couch. As if the whole room wasn't watching them, hah!

But it doesn't do any good for my argument after all. While it's ascertained that Toad and Tabby is, in fact, a very _poor_ example of forced heterosexuality, I can't come up with any reasons why me and Rogue is, likewise, a very poor example. There's the whole thing that I don't like Rogue at all and I think it's affecting my tone or something.

It ends with the Brotherhood convinced that me and Evan have a "thing" and that to help me have a "thing" with Rogue would only be psychologically damaging for me in the long run. In short, Plan Grateful Kidnappee Falls in Love with Rescuer falls flat.

And my brain, well-honed and brilliant as it is, is running a little dry.

Next day is long and miserable, mainly because I'm _sure_ Mystique is secretly dogging my every footstep and I don't have any idea how to force Rogue to _tolerate_ me, let alone adore me fanatically.

In fact, I don't even have the Zoology set of oppurtunities, because there's a note pinned on the door as such:

"Zoology instructor Mister is undergoing another teaching suspension due to idealogical differences with the principal as to how Zoology should be taught.

"As his proposed substitute, Scott Summers, is a student and does not have a teaching liscence, the class is canceled until an actually suitable substitute can be found.

Kelly"

Is it just me or has the principal gotten awfully sarcastic lately?

It's after school and I'm about to walk home before I see Rogue. And, coincidence of coincidence, she's looking right back at me.

"Hi," I say.

She doesn't say anything. But she does smile. And advances.

We're not talking a homicidal advance, either. She's swaying slightly back and forth and her eyes are glittering. I'm not sure what they're glittering _with_, but, despite all evidence to the contrary, I _don't_ think they're glittering with passion. That wouldn't make anyany sense.

She has both hands on my shoulders. I'm rooted to the spot. Not that I have to be, but if Mystique is watching, then I have to look willing to whatever abuse or evil she wants to heap on me.

I wish she'd talk, dangit!

"Nice da--" She leans forward abruptly for the kiss. I don't even feel her lips on mine before I conk ou--

. . . .

. . . .

O-o-o-okay, pleasetellmewhyI'mwakinguptiedtoachairinsomebadlylightedshack,willyou?

"He's waking up, chere."

"Nuts." I can'tseeanyoneandthismakesmeantsy.

"He's trying to break the ropes with his skinny little wristbones, chere. Can I blow him up?"

"No need, sweetie."

Thereisa light bulb, yes, light bulb, hangingdirectlyovermyhead. Its radiusoflight extends maybe two feet. When Rogue presses into it, Icanprettymuchjust see her face.

It's ghastly. The light accentuates all thosenastydark marks inher eyesockets.

"How ya feeling, honey?" she asks. I wonder what pop-pod-person decided to steal Rogue's body.

"Horriblelemmego." I, however, sound the same as usual.

"Can't do that, honey. You don't got nowhere to go no more."

"Oooooooh, yesIdo!" Struggle,strugglestruggle. I figure the friction will snap the bonds eventually.

"The Brotherhood House is closed, now. Your friends have been put up for adoption, with the exception of dear Lance, who's no minor, out on the streets last time I checked. See, hon, I found out _all_ about Risty when I kissed ya and when I told Xavier, he panicked and called the social workers in on your buddies -- for their own good, of course. He thought Mystique might start choppin' their fingers what with her having a screw loose and that."

She'slyyyyyiiing. "Whaaa-at, all this happened in halfanhour? Lemmeguess,we're intheshedbehind the school . . . "

"It's been more like two weeks, hon."

"Whaaaaaat, that's not possible!"

"I've been keeping you under, hon. You're awfully sensitive. Just gotta brush my fingers against your cheek and you're dashed out. Brush a little harder . . . well, I'm curious 'bout how long I can drain your life, bit by bit . . . "

"AAAAAAAAAAUGH!" Just thoughtI'dsay that. "AAAAAAAAUGH! Lemmego!"

"She no can do that, 'Silver." And this _hideous_ bearded face gets into the light alongside Rogue. "You bein' around is keepin' me sane."

"AAAAAAAUGH!" I don't have a clue what he just said, but AAAAAUGH.

"See, chere 'ere really do got some case of 'sexual frustration.' Long as she kissin' you, she ain't goin' nuts and kissin' me."

"AAAAAAAAUGH!"

"Pietro, sweetie, I don' wanna 'urt my Remy now, do I? And since you _volunteered_ . . . "

"AAAAAAAAAUGH!"

"I don' like you at _all_, see? So it doesn't 'urt me to 'urt you and the fact you were just flirtin' after me to save your own skin makes it _that_ much easier . . ."

"AAAAAUGGG--"

"Let him go," says a voice that should be deep and resonant and striking-of-terror-into-villainous souls. But, I recognize it. It's just Evan.

"Why should we, chere?" the hideous bearded man asks Rogue, who shrugs.

"No reason comes ta mind . . . " and she and bearded man withdraw into the darkness. It gets really quiet and then there's a whole lot of glass breaking and people shrieking, stuff like that . . . and then it's quiet again.

For too long.

"Hey," I start, "anyone--" A hand clasps over my mouth and I make an annoyed lemmego sound. It's not like I can anything _else_.

"Shhh, it's me," hisses Evan. "It's so dark here that they couldn't tell the difference between door and window and chose the window. It's a mess, but they could regain consciousness any time, man."

I nod and his hand moves from my chin to my shoulder and I'm all but dragged out into the night. Rogue and Remy _are_ crumpled in a disordered heap to one side. Makes me wanna cackle and spit on something . . . 

"Come _on_."

I do. We wander out into the back woods and basically just . . . wander until I just gotta ask a question.

"Where are we?"

"Florida."

"Hoooooow?"

"Rogue ran off with you right after school and hooked up with Remy in some alley somewhere and they went on a roadtrip south. Xavier would have looked and all, but he had this stroke and he's _still_ in the hospital, Jean got a really bad migraine and kept picking up the mansion and dropping it . . . and, actually, she dropped it once on the Brotherhood house (don't ask me how) and it's lucky Blob was the only one in there, so there's all these repairs and Scott had finals . . . so it was pretty much down to me."

"How'd you find me?"

"Dumb luck."

"How'd you get here?"

"Hitchhiked. I don't really want to do that on the way back."

"So how're we gonna get home? Can't you call someone to come pick us up . . . ?"

"All the power's out in Bayville, man. Your long lost sister showed up all of a sudden and chewed down the powerlines. Every _one_."

"Oh."

"Uh huh."

The ground is particularly squishy here.

"So whadda we gonna do?"

"Xavier's gotta recover eventually. In the mean time, we could be . . . vigilantes."

"Hey, thatcouldbefun! Like . . . Bonnie and Clyde?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Batman and Robin."

"I didn't bring my spandex . . . "

"I might have an extra set in my backpack . . . "

"Swell."

"Hey, Pietro?"

"What?"

"Just . . . _did_ you leave that note in my locker last semester?"

"Ithinkyou're confusingthiswithanotherstory, man."

"Sorry. It won't happen again."

end

(Note-in-locker silly reference to batE's brilliant story, **Admirer**)


End file.
